


A Wizard's Dozen

by beachkid (binz), binz



Category: Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-03
Updated: 2008-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/beachkid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/binz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good things come in twelves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wizard's Dozen

**Author's Note:**

> For the sbl One Year challenge. Thanks go out to edana_ni_emer, robyngoodfellow, and leaper182 for their help.

In April, Bob quotes Chaucer and strides around the front room, passing through tables and chairs and Harry's pleas for him to be careful, to not be seen.

"Harry," he says, "a pilgrimage! Think of it! New sights, fresh air if you breathe that sort of thing, a new beginning! Revaluate your goals, your aims, possibly make a stop at, ah, a 'Hooters', I believe they're called?" He grins hopefully, standing neatly bisected by Harry's desk, and Harry rubs his forehead. "Oh come on, Harry. What have you to lose?"

"You!" Harry says, and slaps a hand over his mouth.

*

In May, Harry clears off a shelf in the lab and places Bob's skull in the centre. He stacks some novels around it, adds a couple of Playboys, and clenches his jaw shut before he can apologise. Bob knows he's sorry, knows he hadn't meant to blurt it out or the confession that chased the floodgates, because Harry's told him, told the skull and the air in the month-long absence that had followed, and reminding Bob of it won't do any good. Instead, Harry lights a few candles in case Bob needs them, and shuts the lab door behind him.

*

In June, Harry hates that he needs to sneak into his own place; he closes the kitchen door, and sighs. "You're home," Bob says, and Harry jumps. Bob's voice is colder than Winter, even with the fae snow still melting on Harry's jeans, but Bob's _talking_ to him for the first time in two months, and Harry smiles. "I'm not sure if you're familiar with the concept of _courtesy_ \- "

"Bob?" Harry says. He holds open his hand and meets Bob's gaze, the remains of Mab and the Council's deal glowing in his palm. "I got your life back."

*

In July, Bob finds Harry staring out across the lake with an ice cream that's melting in his hand and a fresh sunburn on the back of his knees. Bob leans against the rail next to him; there's sweat sticking his fine hair to his forehead, but even in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt he looks more put together than Harry feels.

"I hated you when you said it," Bob says, and Harry swallows, sweet cream tasting suddenly like dirt. "Oh, Harry," Bob brushes a finger against Harry's cold lips. "I taught you. You know what power words have."

*

In August, the windows are open and the lights are off and the heat chases itself around the room, sticky and tangled with the midday sun. Harry gasps as he slides down, trapping Bob between his knees, his head tipping forward as his ass presses against Bob's hips. His cheeks are red and his hair is almost black with sweat, and Bob reaches for Harry's open, swollen mouth. He's the loveliest thing Bob has ever seen, skin as gold as the summer, gleaming in the light, and he rises up again with a whine that makes Bob jerk and swear.

*

In September, Morgan appears at their door, glamour flickering and failing as he crosses the threshold. His steps stutter, shoes squeaking against the hard floor, and he has his sword in hand when Harry looks up from the map he's holding a crystal over, the stone glowing and spinning. "Morgan," he says, "you okay?" He has a Dorito in his other hand and crumbs on his fingers. Bob hovers beside him, and Morgan raises his sword slowly, shakily, and points it toward them.

"Dresden," he says. "What did you do?"

Harry follows his gaze and winces at Bob's orange-dusted lips.

*

In October, Harry jerks awake when Bob's hand hits his ass. "What!" he says, and tries to turn, only to peer blearily at his Star Wars and Spiderman ties where they're wrapped around his wrists and the headboard. Bob smacks his ass again, a little harder, and Harry yelps. He twists as best he can, and Bob smiles down at him.

"Happy birthday, dear boy," he says. "I've read about a tradition." He rubs gentle fingers against Harry's skin, tracing the outline of his palm and fingers where they're already flushing red. "Now, I do believe you have to count."

*

In November, Mab waits for him in the meat aisle. She parts frozen-raspberry coloured lips when she smiles, and Harry shakes as Bob goes still. The grocery cart squeaks when it stops, one off-balance wheel spinning mid-air, and Harry watches frost form on their bananas.

"Hello, dear boy," she says, the ivory of her business suit almost brown against her skin. "I need a favour from you. Just a small one," she adds, and Harry feels Bob tense beside him. "Silence, sorcerer," she says. Her teeth gleam. "This is between Winter and its Emissary. A life builds a heavy debt."

*

In December, the night stains the sky with a blue deeper and darker than any Harry has ever seen. It's rich and old and Harry wraps his arms tighter around Bob, pressing against him under the sheets. The air is cold, chill sneaking through the windows, and Bob murmurs, a rough huff and grunt that has Harry grinning into his neck while Bob turns, their chests flush against each other.

"Go to sleep, Harry," Bob says, his breath parting Harry's hair. The stars outside break the darkness and when Harry presses his lips to Bob's pulse he can taste them.

*

In January, Murphy clunks her empty beer bottle against the bar with a nod. "Wanna drive me home?" she says, and Harry nods and fidgets to avoid offering her a hand. Harry's not yet sure if he's in trouble, but Kirmani is eying him from a table near the window, and he isn't about to push his luck.

"Great. We need to talk." The frostbite Winter left on her wrists has faded to red streaks, and Harry meets Bob's eyes where he waits by the door, and swallows. Unforeseen consequences or not, he'd deal for Bob again, in a heartbeat.

*

In February, Harry's lips part under Bob's with a burst of air, surprise smoothing away a moment later, and Harry smiles against Bob's mouth while Bob settles on the couch with him, a broad, warm palm cupping his face and two strong legs straddling his own, pushing him back against the cushions.

The candles around them go out with puff of light smoke and hot wax, and Harry blinks, reaching with an arm; Bob catches it and traps it between their heartbeats. He cradles the back of Harry's head and kisses deep, lips clinging while they trade breath and life.

*

In March, Bob eyes the clouds rolling dark and bruised above them, while Harry peers at the gutter, grimacing when he catches sight of the client's wedding ring he's looking for, caught in the sludge. He grunts; bends to grab it; and Bob steps closer, trailing his fingers along the swell of one of Harry's ass cheeks. Harry squawks, rights himself before Bob can hide his smile, and sputters, mouth dropping open. Bob grins, rests his hand against Harry's jaw, strong and warm and rough with stubble, and Harry laughs as the sky cracks open, clouds giving way to rain.


End file.
